So now the knife
has finally drilled through your protections,
like a bird with a diamond beak pecking at wood
again and again, until
it extracts what it was striving towards
the whole time.

You have brought up your reserve shields,
your last line of defense, and who
could blame you?
Not I, though,
like a king protecting his life
by building a fortress and then
living in its safety,
you have seemingly constructed strong walls
shutting the world out, until
I cannot see you, only the fortress and
your warm voice is poorly mimicked
by cold echoes from the stone.

The world thinks
you have locked them out, and yet
such is the image you project,
like a desert mirage,
and I would have sworn it was real, until
you let me come closer
and I touched you.

You are not the coward king, hiding
from the world and all
that might harm you, no. You
are the lion-tamer whose lion
has turned rabid, who locks herself in
and builds walls and will fight
until you are ****** and tired
but unrelenting
until it is safe for you to open the cage
and break down the walls
without your lion hurting those
you hold dear.

You build your concrete walls, you
close everything up and
you narrow them, until
only you and your lion remain
and they look like a coffin.

My wish for you is not
only that you will emerge alive, but that
you will not let this be a coffin
even a temporary one.

Instead
let this be your chrysalis.
I know you are strong enough to battle
and win
and finally emerge, triumphant
resplendent in new colors, maybe
the green-hued rainbow of fading bruises,
but still beautiful.

The walls will come down and you
will slowly reappear,
even stronger and ready
to fly.